Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice
by eboncat
Summary: A collection of drabbles, and short one shots in response to prompts from dragon age forums. Includes DA:O and DA:2. Mostly rated T but some M *evil cackle*  As always, Bioware owns all but my PC. Reviews prevent knicker weazels!
1. We Die Young

21/09/11

Title: We Die Young

Rating: T

Word Count: 671

"Of all the stupid, idiotic crazy..." Noctoi swore colourfully enough that even Oghren would have been proud as the ominous boom of the massive lock rumbled home.

For the first time in many, many years even Alastair looked fit to strangle the elf as Zevran stepped out of the shadows a few feet away. He was about to expel his own set of expletives when the resounding crack of a hand striking flesh broke the ex templar's train of thought. Zevran stumbled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned up at noctoi, who was shaking her hand and looking gloriously angry.

"Ah my dear wardens, do not be angry. Did I not promise you that you would not be alone when the time finally came?" He turned to Noctoi with a glint in his eye "And besides, I cannot allow you to have all the fun down here. You have to admit it would have been dreadfully unfair of you both to be gallivanting around in this hot, steamy, private little nook without your dreadfully handsome elf to provide the real entertainment"

"Erm... Zev... you DO realize we're standing on the wrong side of a locked door leading into THE SODDING ****DEEP ROADS****?" Alastair's voice got louder and higher as he spoke. "You shouldn't be here! We have to get you out, we're not coming back!"

"Alastair's right" Noctoi sighed, rubbing her hand through her close cropped black hair in frustration. "There used to be a tunnel a few miles up that was blocked by a cave in, we might be able to clear enough debris for you to get out."

"NO!"

The Wardens jumped at the vehemence in the elf's voice. He rarely raised his voice and Noctoi had never heard him shout like that before, at least not outside their bedroom anyway and that shouting was for very different reasons. Zevran grasped Alastair's shoulder, and gently stroked Noctoi's cheek, looking from one to the other. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even.

"Please my dear grey wardens do not ask me to leave."

"Oh Zev" Noctoi whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. She gently pushed him back until she could look into his eyes. Alastair rested his forehead on the back of Zevran's head and slid an arm around each of them, his best and closest friends.

"You knew that this day would come Zev" whispered Alastair, a single tear running down his cheek to land on the golden strands of hair "We are Gray Wardens, we die young".

"Ah, Noctoi, mor de mi vida, Alastair, brother of my heart. Have I not said many times before... For you I would storm the gates of the Black City itself. Where ever you lead I will gladly follow." Crushing the wardens to him in a fierce embrace he let out a small sob. "Please, do not send me away, I belong at your side, I am yours!"

The three stood there for what seemed like hours and yet no where near long enough, the assassin, his lover the mage, and the ex templar turned brother that they never had. They held each other until the iron set of Noctoi's shoulders finally relaxed, telling the men that she had finally acquiesced. Zevran would join them.

They chatted for a while, wandering deeper underground until the wardens gasped and shuddered under the screech of taint invading their minds. The rumble of a troll leading up the first wave of darkspawn was felt further up the tunnel the three stopped and looked at each other one last time.

"Well my friends," said Zevran with a ferral grin and an evil glint in his eye "Those bastards may kill us while we are young, but at lease WE get to die pretty!"

Laughing like slightly feral children in a candy store, they charged into the oncoming horde.

A/N Just a short peice (I'm not up on the fic lingo... is this technically a drabble?) for the Live Journal Tuesday prompt fest. Appologies for the roughness of this peice. It was written on my phone while on my tea break so it's finished in 15 mins, really roughly edited and completely un-beta'd. I hope it's not too patchy.


	2. Frustration

28/09/2011

Collection: Of Dragons, Gryphons and Chantry Mice

Title: Frustration

Rating: T

Word Count: 417

"Come on Varric, we don't have all day!"

Hawk shuffled her feet impatiently and scowled at the dwarf, a look of barely contained impatience on her face.

"Almost got it, I know I can get this, it's not even an advanced lock! Really, even Merril could unlock it!" Varric muttered an uncharacteristic bead of sweat sliding down his forehead.

"Oh sweet thing, that's what you said three picks ago." Isabela drawled, smirking "Perhaps you could let me try and coax those tumblers into sweet submission."

"Easy as p..." The sound of another of the dwarf's treasured lockpicks snapping cut him off.

"Andraste's ASS! This is so frustrating!" Varric took a deep breath counting to ten "No Rivaini, I'll get it. If I give up now what will Bianca think?" Varric batted the pirates nimble fingers out of the way and sighed pulling out another pick from his rapidly dwindling supply.

"VARRIC! You hear those clumping noises below us? That's the sound of impending doom running up the stairs to kill us, come on! Let Izzy have a go!" Hawk squeaked in a frantic whisper.

"No Hawk, It's a matter of pride, I WILL conquer this fiendishly brilliant device!" He rolled over on his back looking disturbingly like the description of Sir Pounce a lot Anders was telling the gang about over a game of Wicked Grace the previous evening, and started batting at the padlock.

"Um, Varric, didn't you say even I could open it?" Asked Merril, sounding peevish yet confused as only Merril can. Varric grunted and continued to bat at the lock.

The clumping of heavy plate boots was beginning to sound disturbingly loud to Hawk.

Hawk was about to physically drag Varric away by his gloriously abundant chest hair when Merril whispered something to Isabela. The pirate smirked and sauntered over to the dwarf, planting herself squarely on his lap.

Varric turned bright red and sputtered. Hawk choked on the volley of expletives she was spewing.

Merril stomped over and kicked the trunk. It sprang open with a loud click.

"Varric, you were right!" Whispered Hawk, a bemused look on her face.

"Good girl Kitten, remind me I owe you a kiss and a drink when we get back to the Hanged Man!" Exclaimed Isabela grinning proudly at the now very smug elven mage.

As they tore out of the warehouse, the gang of Templars hot on their heels, the excited squeals of Hawk could be heard. "More Torn Trousers!"


	3. Hawk's Sick Day

08.10.2011

Prompt/title: Hawk's Sick Day

Rating: T

Word count: 679

"Venhedis!" Fenris snarled again, trying in vain to extract his target from the roiling liquid.

He had done everything right as far as he could tell, yet what was floating around in the large cauldron was nothing like the desired end product. Admittedly he had never seen it at this stage in it's production before, but it even smelled wrong.

"How in the maker's name am I supposed to...get... this... out..." The elf hissed, batting at the surface of the liquid with a gauntleted finger.

Sighing in frustration he licked the slightly greasy looking liquid from the now hot metal claws. Grimacing he groaned and swiped the metal clean on a nearby cloth, shredding it in the process.

He leaned on the bench by the fire and sighed, bowing his head. He could fell enemies with a single blow from his sword, but he couldn't read the instructions well enough to help Hawk when she needed him most.

He overheard the Abomination and Varric talking once when Merril was ill, and they said that this concoction would help. Perhaps he should go to the clinic and ask for help... No. Or perhaps the blood mage. Maybe the pirate... How _she_ would laugh if he went to her for help with this!

"Aww, Hawk, festis bei umo canavarum" He muttered, blowing a strand of silver hair from his eyes.

He pulled the parchment over and plunked down on the stool and started reading again.

"...when the chi..ken falls off the b..bones, re...remove the car...carcass and se...pa...rate the meat from the bones. Ch...op the chi...ken up then re...ret... VENHEDIS!" his gauntlets began to gouge tiny divots into the table top when he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Messere, if... if I may, is something ailing you?" Came a timid female voice from behind him.

"Orana, I apologise, I did not mean to frighten you." Fenris sighed.

"Oh no, Messere, you did not frighten me, it is only that I heard you reading and I thought, that is, I thought this might help." The timid girl handed him a large metal strainer. "It is easier if you take it off the heat first though."

Fenris looked at the strange piece of equipment for a moment then, looking embarrassed he took it and walked over to the still bubbling pot over the fire.

"Messere, if I may be so bold as to ask, what are you doing?

Fenris turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. Orana gasped and started stuttering.

"I, I mean no offence of course, y-you are welcome to make use of the house as you will, but it is only that, well Bodhan or I can cook for you, you don't have to trouble yourself... I mean, I am sorry Ser, of course you may cook whatever you like in the Mistresses kitchen..." She trailed off looking pitifully out of her depth in the face of a scorched and miffed looking warrior who also happened to be the most deadly man she knew.

"Nooo, no Orana. I know you and Bodhan are very good cooks, it is just that Hawk is unwell. I..." He let out a huge breath and sagged back onto the stool again motioning for Orana to sit next to him.

"I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about Hawk. She has given so much of herself, and yet she never asks for anything in return. I have treated her terribly in the past, but I care about her more than any other."

Fenris' brow creased as he looked up at the former slave girl worry and frustration evident in his large green eyes. He finally gave in and took off his gauntlets and weapons, then turned back to Orana with a look of determination on his face.

"My lady was injured Orana, she is not well, and I wish to do something for her... to make her feel better. Will... will you help me?"

Orana smiled and nodded. "Of course Messere."


	4. Warm Vanilla Sugar

12.10.2011

Prompt/title: Warm Vanilla Sugar

Rating: T

Word count: 434

Caramel coloured limbs sprawl across the cold wooden table. Odd angles and discoloured patterns mar the usual lithe perfection of the once delightful form. A leg juts at right angles. Raspberry red slithers like warm conserve down an arm, over palest blue trails that are surprisingly firm to the touch.

Nimble calloused fingers falter, the healing glow sputtering, hand pulling back in surprise. The graceful swirls are more firm than he expected, like still warm taffy just under the skin.

The fingers resume their work, move back over the honey toned skin until the only remaining trace of the jarring red is merely a smudge on the surface, not even skin deep.

Attention now moves to the leg. It seems an affront to some god or another, or even the maker himself for such perfection to be spoiled so.

Softly glowing hands skim the surface, testing, shaping, gently warming and straightening the fractured limb until bone is as malleable as warm toffee. Almost reverently the Healer draws the dusky limb straight, noting the smooth warm texture, the dusting of fine white hair like vanilla sugar over a coffee biscuit.

Moving to the head of the table, those calloused gentle fingers slide hesitantly through hair as fine and unique as the most exquisite Tevinter fairy floss. Purest silver white strands that are almost metallic in the light emanating from the fingers caressing the scalp beneath.

The last of the offending imperfections disappear, bones cleanly knit, bruises the colour of over ripe plumbs fade back to pristine caramel. A delicate ridge of a cheekbone smooths back into perfection, a flash of emerald appears from under liquorice lashes, and something unintelligible is whispered on a breath of voice that is more decadent than the finest Antivan chocolate.

From rejuvenating sleep, lyrium lines flare, filling the healers' veins with euphoria, and a gasp escapes. For a moment he thinks he may cry from the beauty of the sound that only he can hear.

The eyes, those eyes that the healer now finds indescribably beautiful, flutter closed again, peaceful and relaxed.

The healer schools his features into vacant neutrality but before he turns back to his companions a sigh escapes, sending a huff of air to ghost across the moist mocha lips that may as well be an entire continent away.

Healing now complete he allows himself to slump, leaning against a wall. The foetid air of Darktown assaults his senses and he knows with absolute certainty that to sample the delights laid out of that rude wooden table would be as deadly as any poison known to man.


	5. What

19.10.2011

Prompt/title: What.

Rating: M

Word count: 581

Lyriana Hawk muttered under her breath, watching the mage struggle through several failed attempts at mixing his "potion". She sat perched on one of the rafters of the clinic alternating between chuckling at Anders expletives when he burned his fingers for the tenth time, and wanting to slap him upside his pretty blonde head.

He really had no idea...

She deserved to know what her best friend was doing, and she damned well had a right, no responsibility, to be involved in his revolution.

She was the champion of Kirkwall, yet who had she really been champion to?

Feynriel? The countless mages who had been murdered because the Templars were trying to meet a quota? The lives destroyed by lyrium smuglers? The dozens that had been made tranquil before the "Tranquil Solution" had been quashed? The tens of thousands like Anders who had been beaten, abused, tortured and broken? The countless children who had been stolen from their families because a religious leader enforced their interpretation of the wife of a god? Father who was murdered... mother who was dismembered and defiled because the institution was too busy chasing power to do it's damned job? Bethany who's only crime was being born a healer?

Or how about the Templars who had suffered, had she championed them? Thrask? Wilmod? Keiran? Maker even Cullen, who was sentenced to live in this sewer of a city because he dared to feel compassion?

Face after face flashed across the back of her eyelids, taunting her. The lives that were destroyed because of senseless fear, the lives she had taken playing Merrideth's games... So much blood on her hands, and for what?

Even the rulers were slaves in this city. Bound as tightly by piety and fear as the giant bronze slaves at the gates were bound by their chains.

No more. It was time to BE a champion, and if that meant being hated and hunted, so be it.

Anders let out a squeak as he felt the magic he was trying to infuse into the powder backlash on his fingers for the dozenth. His hand was midway to his mouth when he heard a soft chuckle and a gentle thud behind him.

The mage grabbed his staff and did a quick patrol of the clinic. When he turned back to his work bench he let out another not at all manly squeak.

"Hawk! Where, um, what, err... that is, it's not what it looks like."

Hawk finished her final measurement on the now finished black powder batch, and gently funnelled it into a container she had prepared while sitting in the rafters.

"What." She raised an eyebrow as she watched Anders' mouth open and close like a fresh caught fish. "I'm a rogue, did you really think I didn't know what refined "Drakestone" and "Selapetrae" are used for?"

Anders continued to stammer as Hawke started mixing the next batch of powder.

"Oh I took the liberty of adding a couple of extra ingredients to my version. I'm guessing a modified lightning spell to set the spark? Trust me this will have a bit extra kick."

"Um Hawk... I... um..."

"And Anders..."

"Um, what?"

"You are a brother to me, but if you EVER lie to me again, I'll kill you. Now, close your mouth and give me a hand. We don't have much time."


	6. Tea and Biscuits

08.10.2011

Prompt/title: Tea and Biscuits

Rating: T

Word count: 668

The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. Especially the Orlesian kind of biscuits with the frosting and jam. So cloying and sweet. They made his teeth hurt just thinking about them. Stupid name for it as well. Tea and Biscuits. Afternoon Tea. He didn't even drink tea. Maker take it, he was a Ferelden after all, not Orlesian. He was a practical man.

Day after day he choked them down listening to the Knight Commander worry and moan about how the mages were all turning to blood magic. How the Templars were being too soft. How they must remain vigilant.

The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. At least if he got to her office early enough in the afternoon he could salvage the beverage and have coffee instead. He would make it himself, unsweetened to counter the cloying confections that went with it.

Day after day at 3 bells precisely he would have to sit there nodding and taking useless notes as the Knight Commander plotted and planned. Plotted to keep 'the solution' quiet. Planned to promote Alrik because of his exemplary service. Demanded that Cullen remain silent about her plots and plans.

All the while the Knight Captain remembered the beauty that could come from magic, the innocence as well as the evil. He remembered who he wanted to be all those years ago. Remembered another Amell here in Kirkwall who was fighting for safety and freedom from the other side of the chantry.

The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. He hated how even the blighted food stank of lyruim in the Commanders office of late. He hated how he had taken to eating even more of the Maker damned sweets to make it easier to vomit up the extra lyrium the Commander would insist he take before leaving her office.

Day after day he would grip the edge of his seat and bite his tongue until it bled for fear of being accused of insubordination if he disagreed with her decrees. He would silently recite the good deeds of the five apostates who had done so much good for those around him. Amell, Hawk, Anders, Bethany, Merril. He would hold the names close like a jealously guarded possession. They were his life line, his link to sanity in this prison of lyrium addled insanity. Those names he could hold because contemplating the sheer numbers of the dead and tranquil at his hands would have driven him mad in an instant.

The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. Fortunately today, he realised, he would never have to endure them again. He watched impassively as the chantry blazed and sent hot ash like pinpricks against his cheeks.

For the first time he stood up to Meredith. For the first time he saw a group of mages running amok and did nothing to stop them.

As he watched the last molten light go out in Meredith's eyes he allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. He may be damned for what he had allowed to day, but how many would be saved by it?

After Hawk and her band of revolutionaries had left and all hell broke loose in the city, the Knight Commander was nowhere to be found.

Cullen, the friend of the Hero of Ferelden, the mage lover, the insubordinate wretch, and the man who would never again feel guilty for being who he truly was, was whistling tunelessly while walking through the woods outside the burning city of chains.

As he walked into the camp of bloodied, weary and frightened people he had come to think of as friends he smiled. When the warriors drew their swords he smiled again and took the lid off the crate of supplies he was carrying. He was smiling a lot more lately.

"Hawk, my sword is yours." was all he said as he handed out the food and drinks.

The Knight Captain, he thought, may have hated Tea and Biscuits, but Cullen loved Ale and Crackers.


	7. Unexpected DA2

27.10.2011

Prompt/title: Unexpected 2 (Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice)

Rating: T (some rough language)

Word count:633

Characters: Carver, M!Hawk, Anders, Isabela, Sebastion, mentions of others.

A/N Wow this is late, but meh, at least the block finally broke lol. I have a couple more coming, but this is all I have atm.

Anders' back slumped in resignation as he heard Hawk's words. He had known that this might happen. Hawk and that Chantry Prince were thick as thieves, and Sebastion was never going to understand the plight of Mages. The Chant was too ingrained into his psyche and the man was far too much of a follower to think for himself. If he called for blood, Hawk would supply it, even if it was to be Anders' blood.

The mage took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the blade to pierce him. Typical that his closest frien, a mage himself, would opt for a rogues weapon to do the deed. Or perhaps Hawk would give the rogue himself the honours, and an arrow would do the piercing instead. It made his head swim.

Or maybe it was lack of oxygen. He expelled the breath in a rush, wondering what was taking so long. He heard Isabella make a tutting sound, and finally turned around to face the angry group behind him. He steeled himself and turned to see...

A gigantic sword drawing just the slightest trickle of blood as it rested gently at Hawk's throat.

Huh?

Anders vision swam a little as his mind tried to catch up to his eyes. He vaguely registered the sound of Hawk's staff hitting the ground as he slid his eyes over to Sebastion. The "Prince" also had a blade, albeit a much smaller one pressed to his groin even as a rather bountiful bosom wrapped in white cloth was pressed to his face. The git looked as if his head may explode.

Wait, what?

Anders let out a slightly hysterical giggle.

He looked to the other person in the group who would likely want to see him dead, do discover Alastair with his boot planted squarely in the elf's tattooed back.

Anders giggled again.

Deciding he was going slightly mad, the mage stood and turned to face the group of people who were currently far pointing too many weapons at each other and saw Amell happily chatting with the Knight Captain, and gesturing wildly with a huge shit eating grin on her face.

His poor brain, unable to take any more weirdness, forced his eyes back to the immediate issue at hand, namely the man who was about to kill him.

"Anders, are you alright brother?" Carver asked in a serious voice.

"Carver what the bloody hell!" Hawk sputtered, looking fit to kill the younger man.

"Don't. You. Dare." Bellowed Carver. "What would Father think? Andraste's perky tits, you are A MAGE!. Would you stab Bethany in the back as well?"

"But, I..."

"No! You don't get to be surprised, OR pissed off, you amazing shitheel. You get to show some integrity for once and fight for the damned cause that you and father rammed down my throat for the past 23 years." Carver slowly lowered the massive sword from Hawke's throat and sniffed.

"But I..." Hawk was looking nervously at Sebastion for guidance only to realise that his friend was currently suffocating in cleavage. He looked back to Carver and gulped.

"No buts, you will apologise to my fellow Grey Warden here for threatening his life, and then you will go and discuss strategy with the Knight Captain and the Hero over there and then when this is over, we are going to have a long chat about loyalty."

To the horrified fascination of all present, Hawk swallowed convulsively, nodded and wandered away to do as he was told.

As the tension dissipated, Varric sauntered over to Anders and clapped him on the back.

"You still with us Blondie?"

"Um... Yeah... That was just... unexpected."

"No shit, even I couldn't have planned that..."


	8. What A View

(Well, I cheated and used last weeks prompt for this week hoping to be able to post before work, but then my hours changed and I posted late anyways. I shall hereby give up and resign myself to posting too late. Grumble. ALso, I really can't be assed struggling with formatting issues between open office, gmail and LJ. It's too much like hard work. Appologies in advance. Anyways, here 'tis.)

It was mid afternoon on a particularly hot Kirkwall day when Hawk rounded the bend of a trail off the wounded coast. Humming to herself, she ducked down a well hidden game trail and entered a small grove near the edge of a cliff. Below was a small pond of ice cold, crystal clear water, little more than a rock pool. What interested Hawk though, was the miniature waterfall above it. Water from a spring filtered through the sandy soil and emerged just below the lip of the cliff that jutted out over the pool. It was the coolest, cleanest water you could find in a dozen square miles. Just the thing for a band of thirsty do gooders out on yet another quest to save the known world from certain destruction, or in this case a lack of herbs.

While hawk waited for the rest of her party to catch up, she took off her boots and sat on the ledge. She lay back on the rocky ground and dangled her feet over the side, letting the water from the spring trickle over her calves and the heels of her bare feet. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of her face and the cool water on her feet until she started to doze off.

It took her a few minutes to realize that she was being lulled to sleep by an achingly beautiful male voice that was softly singing the Chant somewhere in the small cove below her. She quietly lifted her legs up from the edge of the cliff and swung around until she was laying with her head and chest dangling over the edge, craning her neck to see who that hypnotic voice belonged to.

Carefully she shuffled over until she had a good view of the pond below, past the scraggly brush  
>that was growing out of the side of the cliff face. It wasn't a long drop to the ground below, only about 40ft, but if she fell and missed the pond, she would land on jagged rocks that had fallen from the ledge<br>that she was currently dangling over.

Bracing a shoulder on the trunk of a particularly stocky shrub, she leaned out a little further, and nearly lost her balance from shock when she finally saw the body that went with that voice. She stuck a leg out behind her for balance and lay there speechless.

The beautiful deep melody halted momentarily as the singer ducked under the water and swam a few  
>leisurely laps of the small pond, long muscular arms making short work of the task. Hawk's mouth dropped open as she watched the play of sunlight and water over lean muscle.<p>

A soft thud next to her alerted Hawk to the arrival of one of her companions, and someone grabbed her hip pulling her balance back to the safe side of the ledge.

"Makers blue balls Hawk, what are you doooo..." Isabela griped followed by a reverent whisper, "Andraste's frozen nipple clamps, that is a goooorgeous view!" The pirate sighed and slid down onto the ground next to Hawk so she too could get a better look at the living work of art that was splashing around below.

Said work of art was now standing up in the pool, once again singing quietly. Short cropped strawberry blond hair sprayed a rainbow of water droplets as it shook back and forth. Fine chiseled cheeks and full lips graced a lightly bronzed face that was tipped back to bask in the afternoon sun. A sliver of pink slipped between those lips to catch a droplet of water.

"Aaaabout those holy nipple clamps... Is that...?" whispered Isabela quietly in an uncharacteristic display of forethought.

"Oh yes, it's him... and yes they are pierced..." muttered Hawk with an audible gulp. "Who'd have thought it."

"Issy, where are you? Did you find Hawk? What are you two doing?"

"Shhhhh!" Both women whispered in unison, not looking up. Isabela waved Merril over absentmindedly with the hand that wasn't holding Hawk back from falling off the edge.

"Ooh is this a game?" Whispered Merril sliding in next to the other women on the ledge. "what are you doing, did I miss something... ooooh isn't he preeetty..."

In the pond below, large strong hands were sliding down the back of the blond head, forcing water to run in rivulets down a long corded neck, across broad well muscled shoulders, and down a lightly tanned back that was so well defined with muscle that it could have been sculpted by some Orlesian  
>master artisan.<p>

A fourth body shuffled up beside the three women. A crossbow nosed out over the edge of the cliff.

"What's going on ladies? Are we about to launch a daring attack on another band of Qunari? A pack of slavers perhaps?"

Varric looked at Hawk over Merril's shoulder and poked her arm when she didn't reply. Hawk's response was to gently reach across and turn Varric's head to face the scene below.

"And I thought the sight of three shapely asses sticking up in the air was quite the view!" chuckled the dwarf under his breath. "Makers cross dressing uncle, is that...?"

"uh huh" Was the soft chorus of replies.

Eventually the man below dried off and donned his armor once more, Sword strapped to back, skirts and armor neatly and firmly in place. A wistful look crossed his handsome face before he turned and strode off towards the trail back to Kirkwall.

After he was safely out of earshot, Varric and Isabella leaped to their feet, chattering excitedly.

"So Rivaini, Friend Fiction?"

"Of Course! Title?"

"Oh it has to be something catchy, something that really grabs the eye!"

"Sunkissed in Kirkwall?" The pirate shook her head.

"Worked Up on the Wounded Coast?" Varric laughed shaking his head as well.

"Gold in the Gallows? Oh how about The Pierced Priest?" added Merril.

"You better watch out Rivaini, Daisy here is starting to give you a run for your money!" laughed Varric

"I was thinking Tasty Templars!" Chimed in Hawk, chuckling uncontrollably.

Laughing they headed back to the Hanged man, quest to find herbs forgotten. They would give Sol what they had and pick up the rest later on. Sometimes there were simply more important things to do.

Besides, thought Hawk, she would need a good stiff drink before she would be able to venture into the gallows without seeing those little golden rings and water drenched muscles in the back of her mind. Or maybe a LOT of drinks...


	9. Improbable Romance

09.11.2011

Title: Improbable Romance  
>Series: Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice<br>Rating: T  
>Word Count: 976<p>

(Yet another one, late as usual, but work has been hell for the last couple of weeks. I'm also working on another couple of stories, longer ones this time so fitting everything in is a bit of a squeeze. Apologies for this being a little rough, I haven't done a decent edit on it yet. Reviews make the baby nugs happy and strong!)

Teagan sat on the bench in the lavish garden rubbing his temples. The tinkle of the fountain helped to soothe his ravaged nerves. His mind drifted to the thought that he might just have to go drown himself in that fountain if the woman next to him did not shut up soon.

From the corner of his eye saw a flash of platinum blonde hair and looked up, his breath hitching in his throat. Amell? No, not Amell, Hawk he reminded himself. The resemblance really was uncanny. Same moontouched hair, same pale gray eyes, Maker help him they even had the same incredible pouty lips.

He gave her a tight smile as she approached him with her elven friend. Hawk smiled her incredible smile, so like her cousin's, and greeted him warmly. He stood and started to ask her weather she was here for the hunt or if some other task brought the Champion to this far flung locale, when Isolde started to mutter to him and pull on his sleeve. Dulcie? What? He couldn't concentrate on anything Hawk and her companion were saying. He turned to Isolde for a moment and when he turned back the two women had gone.

He sat back down on the bench with a resigned sigh. The woman next to him continued to prattle about something or other he just HAD to tell to someone or other.

His eyes wandered over the crown as his mind wandered back to Redcliffe almost a decade earlier. Another silver haired mage. A harder time, a harsher place. A woman who in the midst of the Void on earth managed to bring a little spark of hope, a little smolder of passion to his beleaguered heart. If only he'd had the courage to ignore what was expected of him and persue...

"Teaaaaagaaaaan..."

The man in question cringed and asked himself for the hundredth time why in the name of the Maker's sweet fluffy pink bedsocks he agreed to bring this shrieking harpy of a woman with him. On second thoughts, sticking his head into the cage of that Wyvern over there...

He sighed again.

"Yes Isolde, I till tell him. In due time."

His eyes drifted back over to the Champion, talking animatedly with the Elf woman, and... were they stealing coins from the guests? He barely stifled a laugh. Maker, she and her cousin really were alike!

He wondered what it might be like to have a proper conversation with Hawk, weather she would have the dry wit of Amell, or would she have a more bubbly feminine personality. He knew that either way she laughed readily. She had worn a permanent cocky grin on both occasions that he had the pleasure of speaking with her.

He would bet a generous sum that despite the fine clothing she wore, her hands would be strong and calloused. She walked with the grace of a seasoned warrior who was just as capable of using that staff she carried to defend herself as competently as she used her magic.

He wondered what her accent sounded like as she spoke Arcarnum while casting her spells. He wondered how many people here even guessed that an apostate walked among them. She exuded such captivating personality that one completely overlooked what she really was.

Watching her long hair stir and flutter in the breeze as she tossed the stolen coins into the fountain, he wondered what that it would feel like for those spun silver strands to slide through his fingers...

"TEEEaagaaaan!"

"What? Where? Huh?" He stammered shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"When are you going to tell him? Oh and you simply MUST tell him about the skeletons Teaaagaaaan!" Isolde started crying prettily yet noisily as only the very spoiled and the very rich can.

Teagan's eyes stopped in their tracks mid roll. Did Amell just wink at him? And why is she pointing to her hip? He stared at her blankly, as his head pounded even harder. Maker take it, now Isolde was sniffing at him. He reached into his pocket to find a handkerchief. As his hand closed around the fabric, he felt a small piece of folded parchment. Absently handing the square of fabric to the crying woman, he took out the paper and unfolded it.

"My dear sweet man, should you find that your poor nerves simply cannot tolerate present company any longer,  
>I will be more than happy to rescue you. Yours in sympathy, H."<p>

"TEEEEEAAAGAAAAAN"

Teagan blinked. Slowly he turned to the woman beside him and his mouth split into a serene smile.

"Isolde, you inconsiderate, exasperating, annoying, nug humping, void spewing, shrill little... HARRIDAN! For the love of the Golden City, will you please SHUT UP!"

Nodding curtly to his sister in law he stood, and with a spring in his step he walked up to Hawk, spun her around and swept her into a kiss that would have made even Senechal Bran's 'date' blush.

When their lips finally parted Teagan leaned in to murmur in Hawks ear.

"My dear Champion, I am in your debt." His voice shook as he whispered "I would greatly enjoy the opportunity to get to know you better. My ship is as your disposal for your return trip should you require safe passage home."

Hawk smiled up at him, cheeks a charming shade of red. She shook her head as if to object.

"I have a hunch" Teagan smiled, brushing a thumb along Hawk's cheek "If you are anything like your cousin, you could use a fast ship back to Kirkwall, yes? And besides, if there is any trouble we can throw my dear sister at them as a diversion!"

Throwing a devilish wink to Hawk, he turned and sauntered over to the cheese platter, happier than he had in over ten years.


	10. sing

Title: Sing

Collection: Of Dragons Griffins and Chantry Mice

Characters: Leliana, Alistair, Fem!Warden

Warnings/rating: T for Character death

Word Count: 249

Sweat beaded on her brow and the lump in her throat threatened to choke the life from her. She took a deep breath to try again. Her voice NEVER failed her...

The note rang pure for a second then cut off with a sob. Heat rose to her face, but her skin remained pale, almost ghostly white in the flickering light of the pyre.

"Maker, I am so sorry" she whispered, trying to steady her racing heart and her gasping breath.

Taking a deep breath for a third time, she found herself feeling dizzy. The air was filled with smoke, with incense, with fear, with sorrow, with death. Death. She tried not to think about that underlying sweet sickening smell.

Another sob escaped and she weaved on her feet. It was too much. She could not do this.

Suddenly a strong arm caught around her waist and held her steady, a splint covered chest held her up, halting her fall.

The bard looked up at the man who had given up the throne for the woman in front of them, turning to ashes. His once bright face, crumpled in despair, his strong shoulders hunched, his cheeks wet.

She had to do it.

She took another breath, and he whispered in her ear. "Leli, we'll sing it together."

Softly their voices rose above the roaring fire, one rough and deep, one clear yet broken, singing for the love they had both lost this void cursed day.

"hahren na melana sahlin..."


	11. Also, I Can Kill You With My Mind!

Series: Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice

Title: Also, I Can Kill You With My Brain

Rating: T

Words: 763

Characters: Mage!Hawk, most of the gang

"There you go, trying to boss me around again! I'm not doing it!" The younger Hawk crossed his arms, scowling at his sister with a mutinous look on his face.

"Carver, stop being childish! If you have a better idea, tell me. If you don't then please, for the love of the Maker, shut up and put... it... on!"

"But... It's... Purple!" Carver sniped back. "Why can't you wear this one? I'll wear the green one!"

"Don't be silly Carver, the green one will never fit you. We are doing this for mother, and by the Void, you will do this and pretend to be happy about it! Besides, Varric is wearing his and he looks dashing!"

"Actually Hawk, I'm really not sure about the padding around the stomach... It... It hides all my chest hair!" The dwarf picked at front of the red and white jacket, trying to pull the neckline lower.

Fenris emerged from Hawks rooms looking confused. He strode up to her waving a black and white ball of fluff and velvet in her face.

"Hawk, I can understand that it is cold, so I can understand the fur around the edges... but do the pants have to be this tight?" He let the bundle in his hand drop so it hung by it's fluffy white pompom. "I will not however where this."

"I think the pants show off your ass-ets nicely!" Isabela drawled, leering at his velvet clad backside. She was lounging in the stairwell, looking perfectly at home in a diaphanous version of Andraste's robes.

"That's not very nice Fenris, Hawk ordered that outfit especially for you!" Merril bounded over, swiped the hat and placed it gleefully on the scowling elf's head before skipping off to hang up pieces of Harlot's Blush at the top of the doorways around the main hall. She swished the fur hem of her extremely short velvet skirt as she worked, humming to herself under her breath.

Aveline and Donnic walked in dressed in matching antique soldiers uniforms. Aveline's usually stony countenance slipped as she broke into a fit of giggles, her eyes shining as she looked around the room at the festively dressed group.

"Oh that's great!" Carver muttered. "They get to wear armor, why can't I?"

A subdued chorus of 'it's not fair', 'I don't want to', and 'you can't make me' ensued.

"Enough!" Roared Hawk, stamping her foot. "I'm going to signal Anders that he can bring mother back. If you lot aren't ready to revel, carouse and have fun when I get back, so help me..."

"You'll what?" Asked carver with a sneer, gathering up his costume despite his defiant tone.

"Well, if the repercussions of annoying me, pissing off Gamlen and ruining mothers night isn't enough of an incentive, then remember this. I pay your wages, I'm friends with the managers of the Rose, and I can KILL YOU ALL WITH MY BRAIN!" Hawk turned on her glittery green heel, and flounced out the door, slamming it behind her.

As the room cleared Varric sidled over to Fenris looking perturbed.

"Broody, did a four foot three fairy in green and red lace and sparkly high heels just threaten to kill us with her brain?"

"Yes." Replied Fenris trying not to laugh.

Isabella sauntered over to offer the men her flask of whiskey.

"Well boys," she said, with mischief in her eyes "she certainly made sure we were combustible enough, perhaps we shouldn't test how serious she was."

The men looked at each other for a moment, and ran for their places, just as the door opened.

Carver reached into the sack of gifts that Varric was carrying and handed one to Leandra, who sported a huge smile and teary eyes.

He grinned down at Leandra, hugging her with one arm and flicking the ball of purple fur from his hat out of his face with the other. "Happy feast day mother!"

******  
>Upstairs Anders and Hawk put the finishing touches on his outfit and paused at the top of the stairs to survey the festive scene below.<p>

"You put on quite a show love, how did you get this done so fast?" He asked putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, you know, promises, favors, my silver tongue..." Hawk shrugged with a look full of guile.

"Ahhh love I know that look, what did you really do?" he drawled pulling her into his arms beneath a sprig of Harlot's Blush.

Hawk chuckled against his lips, eyes shining with mirth.

"I threatened to show them why Mages are feared..."


End file.
